Series: Lords of Rathe Series by Meagan Brandy
Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Little by little, the arena begins to clear, the teams making their way back into the locker room, one to be praised while the other gets their asses reamed, and poor Ben is on the shit end of the stick. He did score a goal tonight though, even if he’ll swear it doesn’t count when I do my best friend duty and focus on this fact in my attempt at a post-drunken pep talk. He’ll remind me nothing but the scoreboard matters, and no line I throw at him will make a difference.
Oh, but there’s a positive that comes from this. Losing means we’re getting fucked up tonight.
Being the rational, responsible one of the two of us, angry and “fuck it” Ben is few and far between, but also my favorite version. I live for the nights my number one is down to get good and trashed, and they’ve become more rare these days. His studies and position on the ice create an even more dedicated version of the best guy I know.
Dozens of ideas of the shenanigans we might get into tonight dance in my mind and a happy little sigh escapes as I drain the contents of my cup, the first initial buzz finally kicking in.
Of course, Trevor ruins it by opening his mouth, effectively ending the blissful silence.
“You know Ben’s in love with you, right?” he huffs as he looks around, shaking his head as if the arena itself is offensive to him.
It probably is. Poor little rich boy. I don’t even know why he’s at this second-rate school.
The way he tells it, Mommy and Daddy could have gotten him into any school of his choice. He loves to share how rich they are, almost as if he uses it as a tactic to try to get laid, but he should put more thought into his storytelling because, again, why would he be a student at Daragan State when the nicer school in this town is the one that just whooped our asses for the last sixty minutes?
“London! Are you even listening to me?”
If it were possible to mute his voice, the answer would be a hard no. Alas, I cannot, so this time I do roll my eyes, purely so he can see how much he’s annoying me while internally hoping he takes the hint and goes the fuck away.
“Yes, I’m listening, and no, he isn’t.”
In three, two, one…
“You’re blind if you don’t think so, but I’m convinced you already know. Maybe that’s why you broke up with me? Maybe you just…”
I tune him out again, singing the chorus to “My Own Summer” in my head, when a sense of awareness trickles down my spine.
My eyes snap up and a little to the left, narrowing on the tunnel across the way. A group of guys stand there, one with his attention pointed this way…I think.
His hair is as dark as his hoodie, but he’s too far for me to notice anything else. It doesn’t matter, though, because I still can’t look away. My eyes travel the length of him, snapping to another dark-haired guy to his left when he joins, slinging an arm over the first one’s shoulder. There are equipment bags hanging from their hands.
So they play for Rathe U…but how did they get changed so quickly?
The guys take a few backward steps, and I swear they’re staring right at me. I can almost feel it; it’s as if the weight of their eyes is pressing against my neck, causing me to swallow.
If they’re not looking at me, then I’m going crazy and becoming too much of a lightweight, ’cause I only poured a couple shots into my cup.
“Are you serious right now?!” Trevor seethes.
Suddenly, my chin is gripped, my head snapped to the side, and I shoot to my feet so fast my vision blurs. Before he has time to process, I’m standing and shoving him so hard he nearly falls over the seats, but unfortunately, he doesn’t. He catches himself at the last second.
“Who the hell do you think you are?” I snap, storming into the aisle and taking the stairs two at a time.
Anger heats my skin, and my fingers begin to tremble the way they always do when I’m pissed, so I shove them into my jeans pockets to hide them. Fuck, if I’ll allow him to think I’m shaking in fear.
There’s nothing about him that scares me.
“You’re unbelievable, London! You’ve been ignoring me this entire time and you want to stare off at some stupid group of jocks from the other school while I’m still right beside you? What kind of shit is that?”
Jesus. This guy.
“I can stare at whoever I want, Trevor. I can fuck whoever I want, too—something you decided to do while we were still together.” I use that word loosely. “So excuse me if the mere sight of you makes me want to vomit all over my shoes. And that’s saying something because these are Jordan 4s and I just got them.”